


pardon my heart

by maguna_stxrk



Series: pardon my heart [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bodyguard Steve Rogers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Unhappy Ending, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maguna_stxrk/pseuds/maguna_stxrk
Summary: “You wanted to see me, Sir?”Tony makes no move to acknowledge Steve’s presence for a few heartbeats and Steve wonders if Tony has heard him at all. Then Tony straightens his back, hands stuffed into the pockets of his silk pajama pants. Still not bothering to turn around to face Steve, he asks:“What’s this shit I heard about tomorrow being your last day on the security detail?”Ah, so he knows. So much for Steve wanting to bow out quietly.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: pardon my heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786126
Comments: 24
Kudos: 240





	pardon my heart

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of the Pardon My Heart series with Bodyguard!Steve and Young Heir!Tony.
> 
> Can be read as a standalone fic.

Steve knocks on the door.

“Come in,” a voice from inside answers.

Steve opens the door and steps inside quietly, closing the door behind him. He stands by the door with his back straight, shoulders squared, and hands clasped politely in front of him. Standing at the far end of the lavish bedroom with his back to Steve, looking out the door leading to the balcony that Steve knows overlooks the Stark family mansion’s vast garden is 25-year-old Tony Stark, the heir to Stark Industries, only child of Howard and Maria Stark.

The man who has unknowingly gained sole ownership of Steve’s well-worn and wretched heart. 

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

Tony makes no move to acknowledge Steve’s presence for a few heartbeats and Steve wonders if Tony has heard him at all. Then Tony straightens his back, hands stuffed into the pockets of his silk pajama pants. Still not bothering to turn around to face Steve, he asks: 

“What’s this shit I heard about tomorrow being your last day on the security detail?”

Ah, so he knows. So much for Steve wanting to bow out quietly. 

Steve remains silent, heart in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s not true, right?” Tony questions. His tone is harsh with barely restrained anger, as if he is daring Steve to say otherwise. 

Steve swallows and it’s suddenly hard to breathe, like his suit jacket is a couple sizes too small for him, even though he knows that his suits—all of them, in fact—have been tailor-made specifically for his body by the Stark family tailor.

“Steve,” Tony says, and Steve thinks he hears his voice break a little at the syllable, “answer me.”

He bows his head, looks down at the floor.

“It’s true, Sir,” Steve confesses with his eyes trained on the sheen of his own polished black shoes. “I’m sorry.”

Steve hears Tony drag in a sharp intake of breath like Steve’s admission is a sucker punch to the stomach.

“Why?”

“Personal reasons, Sir,” he replies. He supposes it’s the truth, even if it’s not the entire truth. It’s not like he can just tell Tony that he hasn’t been able to sleep properly for the past few days since Tony’s near-death experience at the Stark Gala as a result of Steve’s incompetence, his brain torturing him over and over with the memory of his failure and incapability to keep Tony safe.

If he can’t even keep Tony safe, when it’s his  _ literal goddamn job,  _ what the hell is he good for?

He has spent the past few years in denial, convincing himself that he can and will remain strictly professional in his job.

But honestly, who is he kidding? Protecting Tony stopped being just a part of his job a few months into his position as the head of Tony Stark’s personal security detail. He has long been emotionally compromised, because somewhere during Steve’s shadowing of Tony in his everyday life as the one constant presence always by his side, he has seen every single facet there is to see of the lovely human being that is Tony Stark and Steve, well—

He fell in love. That’s what happened.

When Steve had held Tony in his arms at the Stark Gala a few days ago, Tony bleeding out from a bullet lodged in his lower abdomen courtesy of a stray gun that had somehow sneaked pass the numerous security checkpoints, Tony’s beautiful brown eyes blinking weakly up at him, Steve’s fingers drenched in so much of Tony’s warm, seemingly never-ending flow of blood—

That had been the last straw for Steve. 

Steve remembers the way it had hurt to breathe, as if he was the one who had been shot instead. He remembers the way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking even as the paramedics took Tony away. He remembers the way it had felt like someone had reached into his ribcage and ripped his beating heart out of his chest. 

Steve remembers thinking that if Tony were to ever die under his watch, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for the rest of his life.

“What personal reasons?” 

Steve hears Tony walk towards him and he doesn’t have enough courage to look up. He sees Tony’s bare feet come into view on the floor. The next thing he knows, Tony is standing right in front of him. 

“Is it money related? Do you need money? Just say the word, I’ll give you however much you need.”

Steve thinks he should feel offended and angry at the way Tony thinks that all the problems in the world can be solved by money, but at the moment, for some reason Steve’s heart can’t seem to register any feeling other than pain.

“You’re not leaving, Steve,” Tony declares, his voice a low whisper, and he says it like it’s something final and absolute. An undeniable and immutable fact.

“I’m sorry, Sir—”

“I won’t allow it,” Tony says, like a threat. He reaches up to grab a handful of Steve’s shirt and tie, his fingers clenching tight around it, knuckles turning white. Steve feels Tony’s labored breathing on his cheek and he closes his eyes.

“Sir—”

“Take it all back, Steve. Say it’s not true,” Tony’s voice breaks into a sob and then he’s crying. He’s crying into Steve’s shoulder and Steve grits his teeth to keep his own tears from falling. He feels lightheaded. 

“Take it back, you bastard,” Tony spits, trembling with rage. 

With his face still buried in Steve’s shoulder, he says, a punch punctuating each sentence: 

“You’re not leaving. You’re not leaving. You’re not leaving.  _ You’re not—” _

Steve catches his arm just as he goes in for a fourth punch and his hand trembles with the force it takes to restrain Tony.

“Sir,” Steve gasps, setting Tony’s arm back at his side, “you’re going to rip your stitches.”

Tony staggers back at that, eyes red and face tear-streaked, looking back at Steve like Steve has slapped him across the face.

Steve feels like throwing up. He clenches his fists tightly at his side, letting the nails dig into the meat of his palms.

He straightens up and steps backwards towards the door, eyes still fixed on Tony. Brilliant, beautiful Tony who will always deserve so much more than what Steve can offer. 

Bowing his head when he speaks, it takes everything in him to make sure the voice comes out calm and steady:

“Get some rest, Sir. Once again, I’m sorry and… It’s been an honor, Sir. Thank you.”

He turns around, gets one hand on the door handle. 

“I told you to call me Tony when we’re alone,” Tony croaks, the despair in his voice another knife to Steve’s heart. “Call me Tony.” 

It sounds like a plea for something else. A plea for so much more. A plea for Steve to stay.

Steve closes his eyes and takes a fortifying breath. He has to get out of here. Another word, and he might just give in. 

Another look, and he might just  _ stay.  _

He clenches his jaw, gives Tony a curt nod and what he hopes passes for a smile. All the while, he doesn’t look back at Tony. 

“Good night, Sir.”

Then he opens the door, walks out of the room, and closes the door again behind him. He makes his way through the hallways of the mansion and to his living quarters, his strides hurried and determined. By the time he reaches his own bedroom door, his vision is already blurry with unshed tears.

Once he is safely alone in the confines of his room, he lets his weak knees crumple under him. 

When he finally lets his tears fall, he cries hard enough for his throat to hurt. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr [@maguna-stxrk](https://maguna-stxrk.tumblr.com/) and let's talk all things stevetony! :)


End file.
